Trivial Argument
by DuskMoon15
Summary: A recurring argument between Mihael and Thomas comes to an unexpected conclusion when the Arclights reunite and they discover Chris decided to stop braiding his hair.


**AN: For any of those who have read my other stories, no, this does not mean I'm back. All it means is that this is just something that I've been working on for months and I want other people to see since it's not my usual writing style.**

* * *

Mihael finished securing the ponytail around the end of his older brother's braid. He grinned, proud of himself for helping Chris. "There, done!" he announced, taking a step back to admire his work.

Chris ran his fingers along the braid, smiling a thanks at his young brother. "You did a wonderful job, Mihael."

"Yeah, well I still think that braid looks girly," Thomas teased from where he was sitting next to the family dog.

Mihael made a face at him. "It does not! It looks grown-up, just like Dad's!"

Thomas stuck out his tongue, leaning against Toby's side. "Dad's looks girly, too," he muttered. Mihael gave up trying to argue and went back to admiring Chris' braid.

"Don't listen to him, Chris. _I _think it makes you look grown-up."

Chris could not help but chuckle at the trivial things his brothers quarreled over. "It doesn't matter if Thomas thinks it looks girly. I like it," he said. His reassuring words were rewarded with another of Mihael's wide smiles.

* * *

"Are you sure you still need my help with this?" Mihael asked, arranging Chris' long hair over his left shoulder. A slow nod answered him. "Then stop moving." Mihael divided his brother's silver hair into three strands and began the methodical process of plaiting them together.

Chris remained as still as was humanly possible while Mihael was braiding, but it's always difficult to focus on not moving when your little brother is sitting on your lap with his short mop of pink hair practically in your face.

"Ah, Chris, don't look now, but I think Thomas found those scissors you hid."

Chris stood abruptly, dumping Mihael on the floor. "What?" Mihael rubbed his backside, pointing with his other hand to the tuft of much shorter hair sticking out from the side of Chris' unfinished braid. Mischievous giggling echoed from behind the closed bedroom door. Chris stormed over to the door, yanking it open. "Get in here," he ordered.

Thomas' snickering died out when he saw his brother's expression. He offered a meek grin and walked inside, sitting down next to Mihael.

Chris tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. "Well?"

"You're in trouble," sing-songed Mihael in his older brother's ear.

Thomas pushed him over. "Shut up."

"Chris!"

Mihael was ignored. "I thought I told you not to play with scissors, Thomas. They aren't a toy."

"I wasn't playing with them," Thomas objected, "I was using them to cut your hair."

The oldest sibling sighed. The youngest merely said with a shrug, "He's honest."

"Indeed he is," Chris agreed. Thomas offered the same meek grin as before. "Am I supposed to hide every sharp implement in this house to stop you from trying to cut off my hair?"

"Maybe if you didn't wear a girly braid every day..." Thomas crossed his arms and looked away. He received a smack on the ear from Mihael at the comment.

"It's not girly! It's grown-up!"

"You little-!" Thomas tackled him, wrestling him to the ground.

Chris knelt - not so much because it was necessary as because it put him on eye level with his brothers - and pulled the two apart. Thomas reached for Mihael again, but Chris held him fast by the shirt collar. However, he let go of Mihael, who quickly hid behind him.

"Thomas, you and Mihael clearly have a difference of opinion on the matter," the eldest Arclight brother said. "But it should not cause you two to start fighting."

"It's girly," Thomas muttered mutinously, still caught up in the arguement that had been going on for years, his arms crossed over his middle.

Mihael peered around Chris. "No, it's not."

"Oh, yeah? And who's the one who first told you it wasn't girly?"

"... Chris," Mihael admitted somewhat sheepishly.

Thomas smirked."My point exactly."

* * *

V waited for his brothers outside the old, decrepit church, Tron playing a video game next to him. V could not help but wonder how this perpetually giddy _child_ was once Byron Arclight. The two were nothing alike. All Tron ever talked about was either revenge on Dr. Faker or video games and cartoons.

It... unsettled V, to say the least.

And yet, there was no denying the story Tron had told him, so they must have something in common.

V glanced down at the masked figure with something akin to uncertainty clouding his eyes, but the rest of his face showed no such emotion. "They may not be able to come today," he cautioned.

Tron looked up at him, his attention momentarily drawn away from the video game. "Who?" he asked, his voice layered with all the innocence of the child he was not.

_He can't have forgotten already,_ V thought. "IV and III," he said gently, as if he were correcting Mihael for playing the wrong card back when he was teaching his brothers how to duel.

"Oh. You're right. Perhaps we should go inside to wait instead."

There it was - the little moments when it was obvious that Tron was once Byron. V let out a metaphorical sigh. At least his father wasn't completely lost. "There is still at least another hour of light left."

"We wait here until it gets dark, then," Tron said firmly. He snapped the video game shut and slid it into his pocket. They stood side-by-side in silence for what seemed like a thousand years to V. At last a familiar - but at the same time, foreign - set of footsteps approached from behind.

"Ah, excuse me, but I'm looking for my brother-" III broke off when V turned towards him. He froze in place, even his breath appeared to come to a halt. Concerned, his elder brother took him by the shoulders. "Your- your braid..." III eventually managed to force out.

V ran a hand through his silver hair, loose and free-falling past his knees. "What? III, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." Wide green eyes met his own blue ones, then flicked to his left shoulder where the braid used to be.

"I- V, I- I thought you were- From behind, you- I'm sorry- I thought you were a- You look just like- From behind, I mean-" III continued stuttering, not even noticing Tron. His face turned the same color as his clothes.

"What? What is it, III?" V demanded, reverting to the tone he had often used with Thomas all those years ago. He gripped III's shoulders tighter.

"Without the braid- I'm sorry, big brother, but you look- From behind, I thought- No offense meant-" The stammerings grew unintelligible as III pattered on. Tron tugged on his eldest son's sleeve and pointed to an approaching figure.

"Since when were you this pink, III?" IV asked, cooly pulling his little brother out of V's grasp. He noticed III's stammerings and fierce blush. "Is he okay?"

V sighed, quite literally this time. "I don't know. He hasn't said one intelligent sentence since he arrived." He examined IV's new attire, a slender brow arching ever so subtly. Flamboyant was the first word that came to mind. Typical IV were the next second and third. "That's usually your department," he said, completely deadpan.

IV ignored the jibe and shook III firmly. It was while he was jostling his little brother that he saw Tron. _"That's_ Tron? He's a kid!" He forgot about holding onto III tight enough, and the small pink-haired boy was practically dropped.

"Ow," came a shrill whine from III, the first intelligent word he had said in at least five minutes.

"Oops, my bad," IV apologized, picking him up. He dusted off the back of III's jacket. "Seriously, since when were you this pink?"

III's thin lips parted to answer, but all that would come out were jumbled apologies to V and failed explanations for his behavior. This continued for a minute or two, before Tron motioned his youngest toward him. "Tell me what you want to say," he offered. III knelt and whispered it to him. Tron stood stock still as III backed away, his blush deepening. Then he began to laugh.

III embarassedly ducked behind IV in a comic reversal of roles from their younger days. It was hard to distinguish the color of his hair from the color of his skin. "I'm so sorry, V- I really thought- It's not that you're, um- From behind you did kind of- Please don't be mad at me for- You really did look like a- Without your braid- I feel so wierd about saying that I thought you were- Just please don't be mad at me!" The poor boy was near tears, burying his reddened face into the back of an extremely confused IV's jacket.

The middle Arclight shot V a look that plainly said, 'Help me out here.' The eldest Archlight merely shrugged, unsure of how he was supposed to help in this situation. His pitifully embarrassed brother had his arms in a deadlock around IV's torso. Despite III's small stature and utterly next-to-zero upper body strength, IV couldn't manage to get free. Kid had quite the grip when he wanted to.

IV turned to him and asked what he had said. III hissed the reply into his ear and cast a horror-filled glance at V. IV's gaze moved slowly to his older brother. He tilted his head to one side, stuck out his bottom lip in thought, and burst into hysterics.

"Tron?" The question was at once a reprimand and a plea for insight.

The not-child regained his composure. "III said that without your braid, he thought you were a girl from behind," he announced with a deadpan expression worthy of V himself. V's normally stoic composure dissolved into one of complete horror. III had thought he was a _girl?_

"I'm sorry, big brother, but- No offense meant- From behind you did look like one- I mean, it's not like you're girly or anything- I'm just so confused right now!" III wailed, shrinking further behind IV. "Please don't be- I really am sorry for- _Don't be mad at me!"_

All the while, IV had still been laughing like a madman. "I take it back," he said, somehow managing to reign in his laughter for long enough to speak. "The braid was not girly. This- this is!"

V found himself torn between maintaining his few scraps of composure and strangling his tactless brother.


End file.
